


Just A Word From You

by owlboxes



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Thomas Jopson needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlboxes/pseuds/owlboxes
Summary: In the midst of Crozier's recovery, Jopson finds himself slipping, and only one person can help to get him back on his feet.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33
Collections: The Joplittle Fall Fic Exchange 2020





	Just A Word From You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EdwardNotSoLittle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdwardNotSoLittle/gifts).



> I'm excited to finally share my gift for the wonderful EdwardNotSoLittle. <3 I hope you enjoy it, love!
> 
> The original prompt: "Tom having an emotional breakdown in the midst of Crozier’s withdrawals Ned comforts him."

Thomas had known - perhaps not exactly, but at least in some vague way thanks to prior experience - what he had agreed to when their captain had asked for their aid on that fateful night, some few days ago now. He’d watched his mother go through withdrawals, knew how agonizing recovery could be. Caring for a man with Crozier’s particular affliction was not an easy task, nor a pleasant one. But it was a promise he’d made, and he would keep it, regardless of the strain that it was adding to his usual duties, and regardless of what a disheartening job it could be. A steward’s duty was always to his captain, after all. And he was nothing if not terribly loyal. 

When their captain came through on the other side - undoubtedly worn-through from his illness, but better for it in the long run - he knew that he would be thanked for the work that he’d done. Not that he needed thanks, mind you, because seeing Crozier recover would be a reward in and of itself. The man was almost like a father to him, and to see him slip further and further away from who he truly was, affected so heavily by the drink that he couldn’t so much as think straight anymore, had been an agony that Thomas was not prepared for. And so, in moments like these, when he was hurriedly gathering soiled sheets into a bundle in his arms and at the same time, being loudly and angrily berated for not warning Crozier before he’d lit one of the lamps to give him some light to work by, he had to remind himself that it was for the best - that he didn’t mean a word of what he was saying. That the illness was speaking for him. 

The days had been long, impossibly so. The sleep schedule that he’d usually kept meant nothing anymore. He’d spent more time dozing in a chair in the great cabin in the past week than he’d actually spent in his own bed, and his meals had been eaten standing, and generally at off times, when Crozier managed to lay still for a while and sleep. When he was awake, he swung between pitiful and irate, and seemed to have no moderation between the two. Either Jopson was a saint, or he was thick-skulled and useless (He didn’t mean those things. It was the illness speaking.) and the whiplash between the two was sudden and intense. The night prior, he’d dropped the spoon that had come along with the small bowl of broth that Mister Diggle had sent, and the clatter it had made had been enough to warrant a verbal lashing that had left Thomas apologizing and having to excuse himself into the hall for a moment to breathe. 

It was a constant game of reminding himself that Crozier was unwell and not himself, and also that his own overly emotional reactions stemmed heavily from lack of sleep and stress, in a situation that was already terrifying at best before this particular hardship had begun. Tonight, however, despite all of his efforts to stay positive, he could feel it dragging him down. His stomach was miserably empty - he hadn’t eaten since shortly after breakfast - and he could feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temples. And both would have been manageable, were it not for what a foul mood Crozier was in, and the fact that this was the second set of linens needing a wash that day. Heaving a sigh, he excused himself as the door to the great cabin opened, thoroughly surprised at his own relief at Doctor McDonald’s arrival. The doctor’s smile was warm and kind despite the small hell that they’d endured in the days that had passed. 

“How’s he faring tonight, lad?” he asked, his voice carrying that same pleasant note that it always seemed to. 

“He didn’t manage to stomach his broth today, sir,” he replied, nodding toward the linens bundled in his arms. “But I’ve had him sipping some water at least.”

“Ah, well. We’ll try again tomorrow.” McDonald clapped him on the shoulder, and gave a gentle squeeze, his voice dropping to a soft murmur, meant only for him to hear. “Chin up, Mister Jopson. He’ll be through it soon enough.”

I certainly hope so, Thomas thought to himself, as he slipped out into the hall.

____

The only saving grace, really, was the warmth of the water heated over the stove, poured into the washtub to soak the linens in, once Thomas had done the unpleasant job of wiping the worst of the…debris from them. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and plunged his hands into the water, pushing air patches out of the sheets and properly submerging them, his mind wandering as he did so. It was growing late. The men who weren’t above-deck on watch were busying themselves with conversations, card games, preparing to turn in for the night. The chatter was a low but pleasant hum that he could lose himself to briefly, though there was no hiding the melancholy that was weighing heavily on him, despite how he tried to keep his head down and busy himself with his work. Dedicated as he may have been, even the most committed steward would find himself severely discouraged after scrubbing vomit (and other bodily fluids) from his captain’s linens for the fourth time in two days. 

“Gastritis,” he answered, when asked - because the men had been told that their captain was sick, but very little of the ailment itself. Francis’s pride was on the line, after all. And none needed to know from what he was truly suffering. “Worst case I’ve ever seen, though Doctor McDonald suspects he’ll pull through just fine, so no cause for alarm.” Most of the men accepted that answer at face value and sent their regards along with him, and he was glad for it. He was too worn down to answer any further inquiries, nevermind to have to come up with a further story should they press for more.

In fact, he was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized that his space - off to the side, still close enough to the Fraser’s Patent Stove that the chill in his bones was almost gone - had suddenly been filled with another body. It wasn’t until that someone cleared their throat that he finally looked up, startling slightly upon realizing just how far away his mind had been, and then breathing a sigh of relief. “Lieutenant Little,” he greeted him, inwardly cringing at the fatigue that was more than evident in his voice. “I apologize, I was quite lost in my thoughts.” 

He knew there was little reason to apologize. Edward was one of three other men who understood the trials that he was facing at the moment, as they were very much facing them together. That, in itself, would have been enough to excuse his daydreaming, though there was also a much more personal reason that he did not fear Edward’s reprimand. Sometime during the long, cold months of winter, something between them had shifted. Friendly at first, for the proximity in which they worked - and then more than friendly, though he’d had little time to think of such things in recent days. In fact, by no real intention of his own, he realized, he had barely spoken to Edward since the night they’d been called to the great cabin. He’d simply been too busy to think of anything but his duties.

“It’s quite alright, Mister Jopson,” came the easy reply, holding a note of formality that their more private conversations rarely held anymore. “I’d only hoped to ask how you were faring with your increased workload.”

Edward’s expression would have been otherwise unreadable were it not for the concern shining in his eyes. Thomas’s gaze met his own, and he felt his throat tighten. Perhaps it was that his exhaustion was finally breaking him, perhaps it was a deeply-seeded fear that he was not performing his duties adequately despite the ache in his bones during the rare moments of down time that he’d managed to snatch up each night. Perhaps, more than that, it was the innate kindness with which Edward had approached him, inquiring about his well-being when to anyone else, that would have seemed so inconsequential. He could feel his lower lip trembling, and suddenly, his vision was blurred with unshed tears, his chest heaving with the effort of not outright sobbing. Not here. Not now.

Strong, gloved hands were immediately reaching down and pulling him to his feet, a firm touch between his shoulder blades leading him blindly through the quiet chaos of the deck and aft. His feet were moving on their own, no thought at all put into walking, nor where they were going, or what Edward intended to do. He heard the ruffle of fabric, and then, before he could even process what was happening, he found himself pulled into Edward’s arms, his head pillowed against the rough wool of his jacket, and he instinctively raised his own arms to wrap tightly around Edward’s torso, clinging to him like a lifeline. 

“There we are,” Edward whispered. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t alright. In an instant, Thomas found himself crumbling, muffling great, heaving sobs into the shoulder of Edward’s jacket until his throat was raw from it. He had felt dead on his feet since he’d opened his eyes that morning. He’d been clumsy and thoughtless and where he should have been providing the best care possible for their captain, he was falling short. The great cabin was a mess. He’d neglected so many of his regular duties. And he could tell himself a hundred times over that Crozier’s illness had sharpened his tongue, but the words still cut nonetheless - and worse than all of it was watching him suffer and somehow struggling to find a way to force himself to keep a straight face through it all.

Edward’s hands were steady and warm where they held him upright, the one resting higher on his back rubbing in small circles. He was held close until the sobs had quieted into sniffles, until stifling anxiety had calmed into a sort of empty misery that sat in his chest - heavy still, but not nearly as heavy as it had been before. Only then did Edward step back, though it was not to send him off to his duties; rather, he took Thomas by the shoulders and guided him to sit on the edge of his bunk, offering a reassuring smile as he dug around in his pocket. Producing a handkerchief, he stepped in closer. “Hold still,” he murmured, taking Thomas’s chin in hand as he carefully wiped the lingering tears from his heated cheeks, brows knit in concentration as he did so. “It is quite discouraging, isn’t it?” he spoke, tilting his head to one side as he wiped along the line of Thomas’s jaw. No clarification was needed. They were both going through hell. “But you mustn’t despair. You’re doing all that you can.”

When Thomas only nodded, but did not immediately offer any further conversation on the matter - struggling to find the right words with which to express himself - Edward continued on, his thumb brushing against the steward’s cheek with such tenderness that it made his heart ache. “What you’ve done for him in these past few days is more than any of us could. Don’t think I haven’t taken notice of how little you’ve eaten, nor the fact that you haven’t spent more than an hour or two in your own bunk since this began.” The look that he fixed Thomas with was a stern one, borne from genuine concern. “You’ll be of no use to him if you wear yourself out.” 

The want to protest rose in Thomas’s throat. How could he care for their captain if he was asleep? Illness did not choose convenient hours, after all. Crozier’s sleep had been erratic at best, interrupted frequently by fever or pain or nausea and in those moments, Thomas’s obligation was to be there, to press a cool cloth to his forehead, to offer him water to rinse his mouth with, to assure him that despite how awful he felt, he would come through stronger. “It’s just that I can’t stand the thought of him suffering alone,” he finally managed, fighting back the tightness in his throat once more - he’d already cried enough, and he hardly wanted to make Edward wipe his face clean all over again. “Doctor McDonald has other patients to look after. You have an entire ship to care for. I have a single man to tend to, and I’ve been…slipping, Edward. I’ve been slipping.”

He lifted a hand to cover his eyes, drawing in a long, shaky breath. “I lit one of the lamps tonight, without warning him first,” he finally managed, once the urge to cry had ebbed, enough so that he could breathe again. “The way that he reacted, you’d have thought that I’d held it up to his face and done it purposely. It was careless, I know, but I’d hoped to just gather the soiled linens and tidy up quickly. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“And neither was he,” Edward pointed out, shaking his head. “Just last night, when I stopped by to deliver my report, he had no idea who I was, Thomas. He was lost in some…some hallucination. His mind is working against him.”

“Even more reason for me to be cautious then,” Thomas rebuked, lifting his head to finally look up at Edward. “What good am I at offering him comfort if my own actions are causing him pain?”

Sighing, Edward reached out once more, his gloved hand gently caressing Thomas’s cheek. “Would you have rather given him the momentary discomfort of the light, or left him to sleep on his soiled sheets?” When Thomas didn’t immediately answer, Edward did not press for one - he knew the answer. “A bit of pain was necessary. It isn’t as if you went out of your way to hurt him. You simply couldn’t have safely done your duties in the dark. In any other situation, he’d have commended you for taking such care.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Thomas finally sighed, lifting his hand to rest lightly over Edward’s own. He was quiet for a long moment, tilting his head into the gentle touch, and allowing himself to catch his breath. “I only hope that he’ll be well soon. It pains me to see him this way.” 

“He will. Especially under the care of such a fastidious and devoted man as yourself.” Edward’s smile was warm, and reassuring, and Thomas soon found himself smiling too. 

“Oh, hush—”

“No, I won’t. I mean it. I imagine it feels as thankless as my own situation, if not more, and still you’re pushing through with admirable strength. I’m certain that once he’s of sound mind, he’ll make sure that you know it, too.” 

Slowly, Thomas nodded, a dusting of pink coloring his cheeks in the low light. The confidence that Edward had in him was flattering. “Thank you,” he murmured, entwining their fingers and turning his head to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I am so sorry that I’ve not made time to speak to you these past days. Your company has been sorely missed. I sincerely hope that I haven’t left you feeling…neglected, or anything of that sort.”

“Thomas. Considering we’ve both been sacrificing rest these past days in favor of work, you really have nothing to worry over.” Edward chuckled, soft and warm. It filled Thomas’s chest with that very same warmth, chasing away the chill in his bones. “Besides getting more sleep, of course,” he added after a beat, his voice dropping low, as footsteps passed by the thin curtain on their way down the hall. “Finish your tasks and then to bed with you, alright? I’ll watch over him tonight, and tomorrow, we’ll figure out a better way. I…would hate to see you in tears again over this. It pains me, you know. That I cannot be of more help to you.” 

The tenderness and honesty in his voice was terribly sweet, and Thomas could not help himself. Pushing to his feet, he kept Edward’s hand clasped tight in his own, as he pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek - the only act he would allow himself while others were still awake and moving around just outside. Even that little risk spoke volumes of the adoration that he could not suppress. “You’ve been of more help tonight than I could ever begin to say,” he murmured, and as their eyes met, he was struck by how true those words rang. He’d been falling apart only minutes prior, and now, thanks to this man’s wondrously kind heart, he had found the strength to carry on. “Thank you, Edward. Promise you’ll get some rest too.”

Edward nodded, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting him go, instead letting it rest on his lower back and giving Thomas a little nudge toward the door. “Don’t worry about me. At least I haven’t been napping upright in a chair,” he quipped, smirking at the flush that spread across Thomas’s cheeks at being found out. 

“How—?”

“I told you, I came to deliver my report last night.” Edward chuckled once more, clapping his hand over Thomas’s shoulder and squeezing gently. “You didn’t look particularly comfortable. I’d have fetched you a blanket, but I heard you moving around after I’d closed the door behind myself.”

Thomas snorted, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Well. Thank you all the same.” He hesitated, before dropping his tone to a near-whisper. “I’d have been much more comfortable with one of your blankets, I’m certain.”

“Is that so…?” Edward eyed him for a moment, his smirk only widening as he turned to open one of the drawers under his bunk. When he turned to face Thomas again, he pushed a neatly-folded blanket into his hands, already holding up a hand to shush him. “I’ll sleep more soundly knowing that you’re comfortable,” he insisted, lifting his hand to brush his thumb lovingly across the line of Thomas’s jaw before stepping back, his tone shifting to something much more formal. “Go on now. The sooner you get the washing done, the sooner you’ll be able to get some rest. Goodnight, Mister Jopson.” 

Thomas had to school his expression into neutrality as he pushed the curtain open, and took one last look over his shoulder at the man who held his heart, despite how he felt full to bursting with love. “Goodnight, Lieutenant Little,” he said, “And thank you again.”

The blanket remained clasped to his chest for the short walk to his own cabin, where it was carefully deposited on his bed, up against his pillow. Thomas stood there for a long minute, simply looking down at the unassuming, folded piece of fabric, and allowing himself a moment to smile. Being able to crawl into bed and wrap himself up in something that smelled like him was the perfect motivation to press through the remainder of the evening, whatever hardships might come. One day, he would repay Edward for all of his kindness. He’d already decided that once the week was through, once their captain was back on his feet again, then he would make sure that his darling Edward understood just how much he was appreciated. 

For now, there were linens to be washed.


End file.
